


Hope And Nicotine

by orphan_account



Category: Suzumiya Haruhi Series, Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu | The Melancholy of Suzumiya Haruhi
Genre: F/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the end of second year exams, and Haruhi and Kyon indulge in some forbidden habits as celebration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope And Nicotine

_These exams have been hell_ , I reflect as I finally put my pen on the table and lean back in my chair. Mind you, that’s stating the obvious – nobody likes exams; at least, nobody I know does, except for maybe Nagato, who hasn’t said either way. Haruhi, certainly, is clearly itching for the whole thing to be over with so she can escape to the clubroom and boss us all about. The time passes agonizingly slowly. Haruhi’s foot taps, counting the minutes. I cross my arms and sigh. Finally, we are excused. Haruhi drags me off, as if not trusting me to go of my own accord, and when we arrive there, she keeps me occupied with pointless but entertaining banter. Koizumi comes next, bearing his ever cheerful attitude, and Nagato after him, bearing a book. Asahina is late. Still, third years have extra exams, I think. Being a year above us, she will always come late. I wonder idly if Haruhi will be cross, maybe shout “Penalty!” at the top of her voice whilst Asahina quivers and cries. Probably not. It’s more likely she’ll laugh evilly and then force another awful costume on the poor girl.

At last, Asahina arrives. “Sorry I’m late,” she chirps, wide-eyed and falling over her feet in apology. As I expected, Haruhi just grins. Sure enough, out comes a brand new outfit for Asahina: a sexy neko costume. Koizumi and I excuse ourselves, beating a hasty retreat. The sounds of “Put it on! Put it ON!” and crying come from inside. A few minutes later, we are told we can come back in – well, if you count “Well, hurry up then dumbasses! Jeez!” as an invitation to enter. Asahina is whimpering in the outfit. Nagato is sat, reading, and I suspect that’s what she’s been doing the entire time. Nothing fazes her; not even the totally crazy Haruhi.

We take our seats. Haruhi switches on the computer. For a moment, the hum as it loads is the only noise in the clubroom.

“Anyone want to play Othello?” asks Koizumi suddenly. Haruhi glares, Nagato turns a page, and Asahina whimpers. He takes those as “No.” I would oblige him, but today I just don’t feel like it. I stand at the window instead, not talking except to murmur my thanks when Asahina passes me tea. She smiles, clearly glad to be the one I bother to talk to. Haruhi is by my side, on the computer she harassed – no, blackmailed – that poor guy for last year. Maybe it’s the passing of time, and the realization that another school year will soon be upon us; I’ve always frowned at the memory, mentally tutted at Haruhi for being so – well, so _Haruhi_ – but this time, I smile. I think she glances at me, but I can’t be sure.

When I turn around, she’s playing with her hair ribbon. I narrow my eyes. “Haruhi, did you get a haircut?”

“Ah, now he notices!” she says.

I shrug. “I preferred it longer.”

“You did?” Haruhi says, her face suddenly crestfallen, and I feel like I’ve hurt her – ha, that’s a laugh, I think Haruhi has skin like an elephant – so of course, I quickly say, “Oh, but I like it like this, too.”

There’s something in her tone and her smile that makes me think she wouldn’t have cut it if she’d known that, but I’m telling the truth on both accounts. I think she would look beautiful with hair down to her ankles or no hair at all. That bit, I don’t tell her. Obviously.

A little while later, Koizumi stands and says his goodbyes. Everyone else, me included, take this as an opportunity to make our own exit, but Haruhi stops me with my name. “Kyon. Stay a moment, would you? I want to talk to you.”

I shrug, nod goodbye to the rest of them as they file through the door, and resume my post by the window as Haruhi turns the computer off. I watch the last few stragglers of clubs leaving the school. In the distance, there’s a baseball match going on. Ah, the fascination of school life.

“Say, Kyon...”

“Mmm?” I turn round. Haruhi stands, biting her lip. It is agonizingly adorable.

“Have you ever tried a cigarette?”

Now _that_ takes me by surprise. “Umm, no,” I say. “Why?”

“Neither have I,” says Haruhi. “Wanna try?”

“I can’t say it’s particularly high on my list of things I want to do, no,” I respond. “Anyway, where are you going to get cigarettes from?”

She shrugs. “One of the older kids, I don’t know. C’mon, Kyon, don’t be a spoilsport!”

I sigh. “Alright.” This is a terrible idea, I know, but it’s pointless arguing with Haruhi. She’d only bat her eyelids and look cute to distract me, then aim a hefty kick at my lower body.

“Yay!” she exclaims. “Come on then.” I cannot believe I have just heard somebody actually say “Yay” out loud. After all this time, Haruhi is clearly still full of surprises. It must show on my face because she scowls and tells me to stop looking like a fish. I snap my mouth shut, embarrassed. _Urgh, stupid Haruhi embarrassing me._

Outside, she identifies a few kids who she claims always smoke outside at this time. My question of whether she stalks them falls on deaf ears. She strides up to them, her confidence radiating, and demands two cigarettes, without so much as a please.

“Umm,” one of them says. Tongue-tied. I am sympathetic. Haruhi has that effect on pretty much everyone. She’s like drinking an energy drink far too fast, all in one go: liable to leave one feeling a bit frazzled.

Haruhi taps a foot. “I’m waiting.”

The other one gathers some courage, clearly determined not to be scared by a girl about half his age, even if she is beautiful and completely mad. Inside my head, I applaud him. “Why should we?”

She smiles. It’s her best smile, and her face lights up. She looks beautiful, and had I only just met her, it’s what I’d be thinking. I know Haruhi, however. I know that smile. Danger tends to follow it, and then she gets what she wants. It’s the butcher, just before he slaughters the lamb. I resist the urge to run.

“Beeecause,” she replies, drawing out her words, “Because I want you to.” She bats her eyelashes. The boy who first spoke goes gooey. The eyelashes and smile obviously work on the ignorant. The other remains less convinced. _Oh, good for you_ , I think. _You tell her, go on. Please, do so, because I haven’t got the courage and your friend clearly hasn’t got the brains_.

“That’s um, not really a reason,” he says back. Haruhi’s smile grows bigger.

“How about this: if you don’t, I’ll tell the principal that you smoke.”

Obviously, they don’t want that to happen. They exchange panicked glances and hand over the goods. Haruhi passes back the lighter, saying she’s already got one. She makes it sound like a consolation prize. Knowing her, she probably sees it as that.

“Great!” Haruhi beams. “Come on, Kyon.” I shrug apologetically at them and retreat after Haruhi. We walk about ten minutes away from the school before she leans against a wall and lights her cigarette. I look at mine cluelessly; she rolls her eyes and does it for me. I am convinced that, if she’s never done this before, she’s definitely looked up videos on how to. My suspicions are confirmed when she takes a drag like it’s just an old habit for her. I take one and promptly cough my lungs up over my school uniform. (No, not really. It felt like it, though.)

“Kyon!” she scolds me. “You don’t do it like that. Here, let me show you.”

“ _No – t-thank you_ ,” I wheeze, bent over. She chuckles and takes another drag, staring at the tip like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. I continue to cough and splutter, but she leaves me be. Clearly, my life means nothing to her.

After I’ve recovered – just about – I take another few half-hearted drags of my own, but it tastes foul and I’ve barely improved the technique, so I throw it to the ground only half smoked and stub it into the sidewalk amidst countless others. Haruhi continues hers. She doesn’t seem to care that we’re obviously not old enough to smoke, that people are staring with “concerned” – read, suspicious – faces. She takes her time, too; drag after drag, exhaling puffs of smoke and staring at them as if she’s hypnotized. She’s enjoying this. I wish I could say the same; why people smoke has always been a mystery to me, and never more than now. I never want to do it again.

I am convinced that, before she’s finished, the wall we’re leaning against will either crumble away or somebody will reprimand us, but surprisingly, neither happens. I glance at the sky. Grey clouds hang over us like a threat. Haruhi has almost finished the cigarette by the time it starts to rain. It’s not a storm, but it carries the promise of one; sheets of rain falling from the sky and a wind that howls mournfully. She drops the butt of the cigarette to her feet, grounds it into the sidewalk with her plimsoll, and we _run_.

Haruhi laughs like it’s the best thing she’s ever done. I’d like to remain less convinced about myself, but I can’t help it; I laugh, too. After about five minutes of shoes pounding on slippery pavements, she suddenly pulls me to the side and I almost lose my balance.

“Here,” she pants. “An alley. We can shelter here.”

I lean against the side of the building, breathing heavily. Haruhi catches my eye and grins. Despite myself, I do so back. I should be annoyed, what with the cigarette I didn’t want to smoke and the rain I’ve always loathed, but I feel strangely alive. The blood pounds in my ears.

“Guess you didn’t like the cigarette, huh?” I look up, still panting a little.

“Not really,” I reply, scrunching my face up to show my distaste. Haruhi laughs.

“You didn’t? I kind of enjoyed mine. It tasted foul, admittedly, but it made me feel – I dunno. Kind of carefree.”

I nod. I didn’t enjoy the smoke, no, but I know what she means. The sprint in the rain, clutching at her hand and howling in laughter like the wind – _that_ made me feel carefree.

Perhaps it’s her words, or her smile, or the way she tilts her head to one side when she waits for an answer. Maybe it’s the rise and fall of her chest, the giggle that bubbles from inside, the rain dripping down her cheek like tears. Whatever it is, I don’t know. I just know that when I lean in to kiss her, I feel like I’ve been wanting to forever. (Okay, okay, I kind of kissed her before, but that was a dream. Well, a sort of dream.) Whatever it was, it wasn’t real life. It wasn’t like this. That was born out of desperation, out of a pining fear to get back where I was from, where I wanted to be. This time, where I want to be is exactly where I am – here, with this utterly maddening, utterly wonderful girl. This comes from feeling carefree, from smoking cigarettes like she’s done it a million times before, from the rain and the feeling of her hand around mine. It comes from feeling alive.

I think she’s surprised, but she kisses me back, and her mouth is cool and soft. I deepen it, her body arched against mine and my hands pulling her closer, and she makes a noise in the back of her throat like she’s been waiting for this, too. I smile inwardly. Even with my eyes closed, I know she’s beautiful.

The rain drips on the sidewalk like a love song, and as I kiss her, she tastes of hope and nicotine.


End file.
